


the point of no return

by hauntedhellhound



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Let Number Five | The Boy Say Fuck, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, all dumb mistakes are my own, dark themes, if you think certain tags should be added just ask, more tags TBD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedhellhound/pseuds/hauntedhellhound
Summary: Season 1 AUAfter killing Leonard, Vanya takes the time to read Reginald's notes. It changes things.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy/Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 48
Kudos: 169





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Please note I definitely ship five/vanya so if that bothers you, I doubt you will enjoy my work.)
> 
> I wrote fanfic a long time ago, but TUA surprising inspired me again. Or at least I'll try. For this fic most of s1 has gone like usual up until a certain point.

Klaus has a headache.

Really, that’s not unusual lately. Sober Klaus has to deal with all that wonderful Hargreeves brand bullshit without his favorite methods of distraction. But hey, he is trying. Trying includes, as Ben relentlessly reminds him, visiting Allison in the recovery room. And practicing his powers. And attending the family meetings. 

He picks the last one today.

The tension fills the extravagant main room, fear and anger taking roost like a hoard of sharp eyed ravens, waiting for an opening to take flight. The whole house feels too still, like the very mansion is holding its breath. Klaus slinks past a relentlessly pacing Diego, carefully observing a pale, hunched over Luther in his peripheral vision. The edge of the bar creaks ominously from the gloved hand planted on it. Luther’s red eyes and vacant gaze are unsurprising. He’s barely slept in days. Dragging him from their pseudo sister’s comatose side is near impossible. Grace cheerfully updates them all on her increased chances of survival, but no one can forget the day it happened. Allison, her pulse fluttering like a dazed butterfly, laying in a pool of her own blood. Klaus refused to set foot near her hospital cot. The terror of seeing another flickering form of his family freezes him in his tracks every time he approaches the hallway. 

What if his pull on spirits affects her? He’s too afraid to find out, good or bad. Only Ben argues with him. He wonders if the others share his worry.

He doesn’t ask.

Family meetings bring the biggest temptation to get _something_ to distract him. Klaus thought the rescheduling of the end of the world would be a celebration, but Five seems even more frantic. His obsession with the apocalypse seems to have transferred to finding Vanya. Which well, considering the circumstances, Klaus understands. He does. He’s not heartless. It’s just too easy for Klaus to slip into old habits. Because while Klaus is trying to turn over that new leaf, he is still Klaus. And Klaus tends to get sucked into his own head. 

“ _Diego._ Seriously. How hard is it to get that security footage?”

“Look, my name is cleared, but if I go breaking into random buildings-”

“I. Don’t. Care. This is important. Get your head out of your ass for once in your lives and help me find Vanya!”

“Five, you little shit-”

_"I am not some kid you fu-”_

“Five! Diego! Calm down. We just need to talk through this as a team.”

“Wow. So helpful from the man who won’t _get off his ass and do something.”_

“Look, I don’t want to leave Allison alone-”

“She wouldn’t _be alone, dumbass._ Grace is still-”

“We need to focus on Vanya.”

“Five! Stop interrupting me or I swear to-”

“Shut up Diego!”

The voices of his brothers clash and snarl and chip away at each other. It reminds him uncomfortably of a time he passed out in a random alley (rather common) and woke up to some kind of feral cat war (thankfully uncommon.) He shudders, thinking of the horrible yowling and all the razor sharp claws. 

“Klaus.” Ben’s unworldly blue glare holds frustration and hurt. Every time Klaus ignores him, Ben feels a phantom squeeze in his empty chest. He wants so badly to break up the fight, to make his brother-friends see reason. “Are you really not going to help? Like, at all?”

Currently, Klaus is aggressively sketching in a notebook. The marker creaks slightly at the pressure, slashing thick lines of whirling eyes onto the crisp white paper. Today, the eyes are inhuman: gleaming bird eyes. Klaus will draw on anything when the mood strikes him. Walls. Himself. Mirrors. Recently, he had gleefully swiped a fancy and expensive moleskin notebook from Father Dearest’s collection. Pogo’s look of horror had been priceless.

“You’re unbelievable,” Ben mutters, turning sharply to exit the room.

Klaus continues drawing with an uncomfortable twinge of guilt. After spending years together, Klaus and Ben often fall into a cycle. Klaus runs from his problems, sees the error of his ways and vows to go clean . . . before his problems build up again. Ben tries to support and give advice, but sometimes Klaus unchariabily thinks of Ben as the most annoying kind of backseat driver. And sometimes his bitter, ugly thoughts leak out into words. It’s some kind of twisted torture because _of course_ Klaus loves Ben and wants him around, but Ben is chained to his side, forced to watch every single stupid mistake Klaus makes. 

Of which there are many. So many. But he is very, painfully aware of that.

Klaus winces, recalling their most recent argument. It had been about everything and nothing. The present pressing troubles of helping Allison, tempering the remaining members of the academy and finding Vanya. And the usual.

_Klaus, please, your powers are so much more than we knew. I think you might be able to help Allison!_

_Klaus, c’mon, talk to them. Not just jokes. They’re arguing in circles._

_Klaus, you’ve been all over this city. Where could Vanya go to hide? Ask some of your “friends,” they hang out in all sorts of weird places right?_

Klaus, do this. Klaus do that better. Klaus try harder. 

It’s not even always about the content of the advice from Ben that drives Klaus crazy. Ben is as persistent and impatient as the rest of ghosts tend to be. Constantly being watched, judged and critiqued with one’s own thoughts being interrupted drives Klaus insane. The eyes are everywhere and he never gets a break.

_I know your life ending wasn’t fair, but it doesn’t mean you can live mine._

Really, Klaus has said worse things. (Which isn’t exactly a point in his favor, but. Well. He’s trying to be honest.) After too much back and forth, it does end up being the phrase leaving the pair in icy silence that day.

A part of Klaus wants to be forever free like one of his lovely undead companions; free of the unending responsibilities life continues to throw in his face. As a child, Klaus had seen the disappointment and disgust on Reginald’s face. He had seen the maniac competitiveness in his pseudo siblings. And he had decided: he could never live up to the impossible expectations. So he simply wouldn’t try. The bar of expectation would be so low, no one would ever expect anything from him. He just wasn’t cut out to be heroic.

Klaus blinks, finding himself drawn out of his trance by Ben’s voice. Frowning, he pushes out of his slump on the couch to peer across the room. Ben doesn’t typically talk to the ghosts that haunt the mansion. Most are too eager to force Klaus to listen to their spiel. Klaus is the ghost magnet; they can always sense his power. And the idea of attention from a living person who might be able to carry out their demands is a huge draw. But Ben seems to be rambling on to someone. The sound is too muffled to make out much of anything.

“Five, I’ve combed over every inch of that house and her apartment.” Diego’s voice is closer and louder as he paces the room. “If Vanya had planned to leave the country she would need some kind of paperwork and she certainly didn’t take much of anything from her home.”

“Well, she didn’t just _disappear_.” Five sounds exhausted and exasperated. “Vanya might know some of the basics, but she’s not an expert at tracking. If she’s on the run, she left some kind of trail. Besides that, she has to. . . know I’ll be looking for her.” Five’s unspoken _if she was in trouble, why wouldn’t she come to me?_ hangs awkwardly in the air.

Luther and Diego resolutely ignore it. 

Klaus, turning in his seat, tries to pay attention to the figures gathered around the bar. Luther is leaning down to the counter, studying the large city map marked with scrawling notes. Diego has several knives out, restlessly spinning them between his fingers while he stalks a quick circuit on the rug. Five perches on a bar stool, his still young face stuck in an angry snarl like a bristling guard dog. Klaus makes sure not to make eye contact. Five is still stuck in a younger body although he has clearly shifted into much later teens. Explanations are clipped and unfriendly so no one really understands much except he is “fixing things.” In his effort to fix on a kinder face, Klaus nods at Vanya, wondering if he can ask her to-

Ask. . . Vanya?

Klaus freezes. 

The blood rushes in his ears, his heartbeat thumping loudly in response to the adrenaline pumping through his system.

Because Vanya is here. At the mansion.

As a flickering blue form.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV switcheroo and some *rewind* time
> 
> also note this will start to deviate from s1's timeline(s?)
> 
> I had fun writing the dialogue, hope y'all enjoy c:

Like the Greek Titan forced to hold the heavens on his shoulders, Five’s mission to stop the apocalypse had been weighing on him for an eternity. For decades, he survived in a wasteland. Clinging to life. Alone and yet never alone. 

The voices came and went. Some were aggravating. Some were helpful. Some he couldn’t bear to hear. 

But Five would figure it out. Stubborn in his belief that the power to fix it, to save humanity, lay only within him. Time travel had been his damnation, but it could also be the world’s salvation. If only he could access it. Yet, his body failed him. 

Again and again and again and again and again.

On some of the darkest days, Five contemplated ending things on his terms. It was hard not to, in the oppressive silence of an empty world.

Where he swore he could still hear the echoes of music. 

A violin’s sharp tune, weeping at the edges of the quiet. 

Haunting him.

Damning him.

Carrying him.

Then, the Handler arrived, her perfect poise and silver tongue promising so much. Five knew better. He could trust few with his task. Understanding or helping. And although he was desperate to take the weight of the world off his back, Five had transformed his Atlas-like punishment into his own Heraculean labor. Failure was not an option.

After outmaneuvering his employers to return to his family, Five would have said he was prepared for anything. Confidence in himself came naturally; he was clever, resourceful and determined. A lifetime of clawing his way out of a variety of situations had completely hardened what was left of his soul. 

Or so he thought.

But time had marched into April 1st and continued ticking. With no apocalypse. No catastrophe. Just a sudden downpour.

The day had been intense. After Five had ditched the Handler, realizing her ploy had only been a distraction, chaos reigned. The fight with commission grunts had left the main room of the mansion in further disarray: more bullet torn fabric, broken windows and blood soaked carpet. With her updated programming, Grace’s brutal, efficient strikes had thinned the crowd. Her perfectly charming smile throughout the violence had never wavered. Luther’s desperate protectiveness over Allison, still unconscious, transformed him into a frantic force, shattering shins, spines and skulls. Five had snatched up a figure hovering far from the front lines for interrogation. Where he learned -through much sniveling and crying and pleading- that the commission was furious. The Handler was dead, briefcases had been disappearing and a rebellion had taken over the main office campus. In short, the apocalypse plans had been scrambled.

The Hargreeves estate had laid in partial ruin (although it could have been much worse.) One sister was unresponsive. The other: missing. Luther, Diego, Klaus and Five tried to pick up the pieces, bloody, bruised and bone tired. Grace had cheerfully suggested options for dumping a large quantity of bodies and had set to work cleaning, equipped with yellow rubber gloves, an armful of bottles and an enormous mop.

The revelation of a canceled apocalypse had left Five adrift, in stunned confusion. Crushed under the relentless pressure of saving the world for too long, this Atlas did not trust the weight’s disappearance. He poured over his notes. Triple checked every lead. And steadfastly ignored his stupid, _ignorant_ siblings’ inability to comprehend. 

“Five, now that. . . the world is saved, you need to stay close by. Allison is still recovering and I don’t want more of your angry “friends” showing up again.” 

“Jesus, Five! Yes, I will ask if there’s a police report about Vanya or her serial killer boyfriend. I can’t exactly stroll into the precinct right now. The charges have been dropped, but it’s not like everyone is going to be thrilled to see me.”

“Five, buddy, pal, _bro_ , I get it, you know. But you need to calm down. I have juuust the thing for you- oh shit. . . Yeah. Woo hoo, sobriety. . . No, I’m fine . . Um, also, would you still count as a minor? That’s. . . extra bad? I guess?”

Whispers of his probable insanity made Five nearly ground his teeth into dust.

_Of course I’m unstable, what do they NOT understand about being stuck in an apocalypse for decades?_

Painfully aware of the landfill of trauma he was choosing to suppress but not fully ignore, Five found his patience burning through faster and faster like a cartoon TNT wick, zooming towards eminent explosion. With his dumb siblings starring as the cause of wacky, unnecessary, and loud shenanigans. What Five needed was purpose (and some quiet.) 

His mind provided only two options.

Not knowing the changed variable(s) that had prevented disaster would stab at Five like the shrapnel that had been dug from his stomach, but Five knew he needed something productive to do. And he could finally prioritize her. 

In the absence of solid answers, Five had latched onto another obsession: his favorite person, his confidant, his. . . well. 

His Vanya. 

The search, which had begun in frenzied earnest on the evening prior to the Doomsday-that-wasn’t, froze surprisingly fast. Five knew his strengths and did not subscribe to a polite sense of humility or playing down his assets (of which his siblings, his rivals and anyone who crossed paths with him could verify.) So, Five knew his ability to track targets remained unmatched. He was simply the best. He could find Vanya on his own. He did not need help.

“I need your help.” Five had loomed over his gathered family, shoulders tense and hunched as if the phrase caused him physical pain. His withering glare ended Klaus’ smirk before it had fully formed. “This is serious. There’s something. . . unnatural about her disappearance. I want you all to scout different sections of the entire city. There is evidence somewhere.”

Their response had been unsatisfactory in many ways.

Luther, predictably, had been nearly impossible to separate from Allison’s side. The day, soaked in blood and panic, that they had raced to Leonard/Harold’s cabin had been burned into the Academy’s memories. To add to the tension, Allison had yet to wake up. Pogo had explained during the initial surgery it had been necessary to medically induce a coma from the trauma. Luther, also all too predictably, blamed himself. 

“I have to be here when she wakes up.” Luther took several steady deep breaths before standing. He passed by Grace, still cleaning from the gorey struggle earlier. “I can’t help you Five.”

Klaus had excused himself as soon as Luther began walking away, skidding across a wet patch of soapy water near the staircase. “I really need _me time_ , lots of, uh spiritual awakening and ah-aura healing to do. Sorry, important ghost stuff!” 

Five and Diego had stared at each other for a weighted moment. As Diego raised a hand -to lecture Five on missing people cases or throw his own lame excuse, Five didn’t know or care- Five shook his head. “You owe me one, Diego.”

Diego had scowled, but thankfully did not whine. 

So the pair had roamed the city well into the night, looking for Vanya. Five had grown increasingly agitated. Had he really stopped the apocalypse? Or was this another complicated game of cat and mouse with the Commission? 

At around 7pm, Five had taken Diego back to Vanya’s apartment to show him what clues he had gathered. An angry voice message on her phone revealed she had been expected at Icarus Theater as first chair. And had not shown up for the concert. 

At half past 11pm, Five and Diego had finished patrolling sections of the city, finding no evidence of her whereabouts. The gloomy pier from which Reginald’s monocle had been tossed marked Diego’s chosen rendezvous point. Five had shown up in a subdued pop of blue sparks, looking even angrier than when they had begun the search. Diego stood at the end of the boardwalk, staring out at the smooth glass of the water. Five stalked over to him stiffly. Exhaustion of pushing his jumps to their limits seized his muscles.

“Five,” Diego rumbled, standing tall, a dark silhouette blending into the night. “I know this city. I’ve walked these streets countless times; I know the people, and-”

_“Thank you,_ Batman,” sneered Five. “Please save your hero act for someone who gives a shit. Do you have any useful information or will this just be a dramatic monologue?”

Diego turned, crossing his arms in a quick, sharp movement. “Yeah, _you’re welcome_ Five. You wanted my help, remember?” 

The two glared at each other in frosty silence, broken only by the faintest of music and the lapping of stirred up waves. The sound echoed across the surface of the water, likely from the opposite shore. Five couldn’t picture anyone willingly hanging out around the seedy place unless they were troublemakers, obsessed with beating up said troublemakers, or. . . teenagers he supposed. 

Five scowled, tapping his watch. 

11:45 PM 

Time trickled closer to April 1st.

Could he trust that the Commission had truly been stopped? He felt torn. Crushed under the weight of the world, Atlas was desperate for relief. But had he fallen into another trick? _No, I can’t keep thinking like this. Sometimes. . . misfortune is just that. Not someone’s deliberate plan._

“I wanted your help, but I had hoped you could outgrow your childish arrogance.”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from _you._ ”

Naturally, Five and Diego argued. Nasty insults had been exchanged, fiery accusations sapping the rest of their patience. They had only started to get into their groove when a thunderclap startled them. A heavy storm had formed out of nowhere, hammering the lakefront with sheets of rain and whipping the water into a frenzy. The subtle chirping of a watch alarm faded into the noise. Diego still had plenty of sharp words to fling in Five’s face, but the broken look in his eyes stopped him. Five, soaked hair plastered flat, had been staring into space, a hand clenched on his wrist. Lost. Looking for answers.

At 2am, the brothers had stumbled in the house, leaving puddles of rainwater all over the freshly cleaned floors in silence. Diego had taken a painfully hot shower and-with a hint of guilt, quickly suppressed- couldn’t help but wonder if the wild goose chase was over. 

It was not. 

The next day dawned and Five was a man possessed. Or at least his very appearance caused some concern and countless double takes. Klaus had assured everyone it was not the case of any kind of literal possession, but Five provided no answers for his increase in physical age. Trufully, Five didn’t know for sure. He theorized his body might be in the process of adapting what it now decided was the “correct” timeline. But anyone with more solid answers would be hard to get in contact with. Regardless, Five had doubts on trusting the entirety of his former employer’s word.

Memories of his first week at the Commission dredged up uncomfortable feelings Five wished he could forget. The sickly sweet lemon cleaner used to keep the floors blindly shiny and spotless scorched Five’s nose like the countless eyes watching his every move. (Five’s eyes had watered only because the damn cleaner was always mixed improperly and not the choking feeling of nostalgia. Pogo had always ordered a similar smelling Ci-TRY Clean after careful comparison on the most efficient stain remover. It really was everyone’s go to for bloodstains, no matter the time period.) If Five were to consider the Handler a shock after his long isolation, being stuffed inside an echoing classroom with around a dozen other rookies, sweaty with nervous energy was a cardiac arrest waiting to happen.

The annoyingly chipper voice of Mr. Tick echoed in Five’s head: “Remember, _agent amigos,_ time is a flowing river. It’s got its own rhythm and pull. When directing this powerful force, you must always remember the Ps of time travel! Punctuality, Poise and Purpose!”

The Commission’s ridiculous mascot did make some decent points although Five had heard enough stupid “p” related jokes from new recruits to last even through a second lifetime. The flow of time could be shifted, but it was a delicate process. Time could be understood as a force of nature: it had no desire for specific events to happen. Like a river full of water, it moved through the path of least resistance. It did carve out a path: sometimes violently, sometimes gradually. The Commission saw themselves as directors, reinforcing parts of the “time river” bank or digging new gullies or constructing a dam. But it was dangerously easy to get sucked into the current and taken for a ride. Commission agents were to be on constant guard to prevent all forms of wandering from the directive. (Although Five suspected some of the bureaucrats simply couldn’t comprehend the employees growing unhappy with the workplace. Not every rogue agent was due to the various kinds of “time sickness” after all.) 

Truthfully, even Five didn’t know all of the side effects from time traveling, both via his own power and through the suitcases, but he decided to remain on close guard. Self analysis had issues, but Five did not want to discuss it with anyone at the moment. 

Five preferred an older form although the painful phantom growth spurt pains reminded him how much puberty could suck. Klaus’ poor taste joke of Five being possessed by the spirit of their demanding father felt uncomfortably fitting the more Five barked orders at them. The brothers had attempted some conversation with him, but they were all at constant odds. Luther and Klaus were content to remain on the estate for the foreseeable future. Diego couldn’t initiate a conversation without it turning into a huge fight. Disappointed in their attitudes, Five vanished through a portal, returning only to quickly eat, sleep or berate whoever crossed his path.

Days passed.

Diego had reluctantly rejoined the search, through a combination of taunting and guilt tripping. He took careful, recorded inventory of Vanya’s apartment. He established the most likely routes of her routines. Cautiously, he poked around the police precinct. The reception was polite but frigid. Diego made it a point not to stay long, ignoring the tightness in his chest and the vivid feeling of wrongness in the building. 

Eudora had barely clung onto life that day at the motel. Although he had been cleared for the shooting, his reluctance to visit her was like a self inflicted punishment. After all, while Diego had never been the direct cause of her nearly fatal wound, many of his choices and actions had been entirely reckless. Diego had heard whispers she had finally improved enough for regular visiting hours. Consciously, Diego avoided any details of the location of the hospital.

Diving into Five’s obsession was a welcome distraction. But as with most things, Diego insisted on his way, which involved heavy solo work.

A week after the thwarted end of the world, Five called a family meeting. Nobody listened the first time. So Five personally requested his brothers’ attendance. . . less nicely. Luther had been nearly immovable; his spiralling gloom made taunts and encouragement alike ineffective. Only after Pogo and Grace gently ordered him out of the infirmary did he stumble down to the bar. Five didn’t expect much participation.  
Klaus slunk in reluctantly, looking over his shoulder like a disappointed parent might appear behind him and scold him for being late and demand proper posture. (Five supposed it could be possible; as a kid, Klaus had described a strange variety of spirits haunting the house: a confused grandma forever baking ghost cookies, an angry French businessman whose head often detached from his body and a charismatic young man who still seemed perplexed at the thought of being dead, continuously trying to sell his amazing Wonder Vacuum.)  
Diego, currently stomping all over some fancy imported rug, had been the most useful to Five so far. 

Which didn’t mean all that much to Five when the bar was that low.

“We need to regroup. It’s important we’re all on the same page so we can work more efficiently. Let’s establish our known timeline again and discuss the next step,” Five announced to the team of extensively trained Umbrella Academy members. No one made eye contact. Luther’s glass of scotch crackled under his unconscious fidgeting. Diego rolled his eyes. And a marker squeaked from furious doodling from the far couch. But no one left the room. Five counted it as a small victory. “Luther?”

Luther dutifully handed Five the city map, snatched from the depths of Reginald’s office and heavily marked over in pen. Five uncapped the red pen with a flick of his fingers. “So, we know Vanya was at the Jenkins cabin. After Allison arrives to confront him. . .” The glass crunching increased. “She’s attacked. Inconclusive on the weapon type. Very sharp but no elements to trace.” The high tinkling of glass rained on the floor. “. . .Then, they made their way to his house. Some kind of altercation happened-”

“Where Mr. Anti-Fanboy got skewered,” Diego interjected.

“Yes.” Five paused, red ink staining his finger tips. 

“By. . . Vanya?”

“. . . Yes.” At Diego’s scoff, Five rolled his eyes. “Well, _presumably._ She was the last person to interact with Jenkins, wasn’t she?”

Diego huffed, leaning forward to point a finger near Five’s face, which was promptly batted away. “Vanya had the strength to stab that dirtbag over a dozen times with every sharp thing in the kitchen? Something’s not adding up, genius.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Look, all I’m saying is there are big clues missing from this picture.” Diego spun on his heel. “And you haven’t exactly been great about keeping us updated on information on your Commission pals.”

Five pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers in an effort to alleviate the headache pressure building. “The Commission is not relevant right now.”

“Great, okay. That doesn’t really explain anything, Five.”

“Look, we’re tracing Vanya’s movements. At some point on March 31st, the Commission was thrown into absolute chaos. I was nearly baited by a former coworker into a trap, but from what I’ve gathered she was killed in a separate incident. The Commission came after us in a manner that suggests a lack of strong leadership. Clearly, internally, they’re a mess right now. Lots of bodies and paperwork to account for. Messy stuff. That means endless meetings, finding people to blame and soothing egos. I’m keeping an eye out for movement on their end, but, believe me, they understand I am dangerous. They aren’t going to try anything until they have some sort of unifying power.” Five took a deep breath. “So, not relevant. I want to know where Vanya was that day.”

“Fine, but I want to hear the second when these time traveling super agents are planning to pop out again.” Diego conceded the point with a reluctant nod of his head. 

“Fine,” Five volleyed back, rolling his shoulders back at the sudden chill. _Damn drafty mansion._ “Alright, so the day before was the last day at the cabin. They spend the night at Harold’s house. Harold is murdered with no obvious sign of forced entry. Vanya leaves and takes a bus to midtown, eventually shopping at a bookstore called Bleeding Ink Heart. Hm, how melodramatic.  
The bus schedule suggests she likely took the 10:35 AM bus, presuming everything was running on schedule. An ATM camera shows her accessing her account at 11:39 AM with a coffee cup matching the cafe’s brand across the street. The bookstore is a couple blocks from that restaurant. She spends somewhere from two to three hours in the store. Some workers remembered her. The employee, Emily, didn’t have many details. She mentioned Vanya asked for specific musical sheet collections from a show but couldn’t name which one. The other one said she left in a hurry at some point after her afternoon break.  
Diego?”

“None of her neighbors had helpful information. And no signs of packing or plans at her apartment.” Diego rocked forward on his heels. “I hung around the warehouses by the pier, but my contact kept rambling how ‘the alien girl’ was actually a mermaid so I figured that was a bust. No one else had good information. Could have been some kid looking for whatever shit they get into for fun. I know I’ve seen them use weird bags for smuggling crap.”

Five frowned. Their most promising lead among the mystery of Vanya’s movements had been Diego hearing of a rather specific description of a short, dark haired figure with a blue jacket and some kind of guitar case near the docks late at night on March 31st. It had given Five an uneasy swirling of guilt and shock, considering the possibility that he had been so close in proximity to Vanya and not even _known_. 

“Alien mermaid?” Luther blinked in confusion.

“He must have been tripping balls, alright. He said this girl had glowing eyes. I thought he was clean, but clearly I was wrong.” Diego tensed, clenching the knives he had been spinning. “Damn lunatic. I told him not to waste my time.”

“Forget interviews; what about surveillance cameras? That’s going to be the best way to nail down the timeline.” Five watched as Diego tensed further. “ _Diego._ Seriously. How hard is it to get that security footage?” 

With a growl, Diego stabbed a knife into the bar counter. “Look, my name is cleared, but if I go breaking into random buildings-”

“I. Don’t. Care. This is important.” Five seethed, his left eye beginning to twitch. _Diego better not be trying to fucking ditch the search again._ “Get your head out of your ass for once in your lives and help me find Vanya!” He swore red was beginning to flood his vision.

A vein in Diego’s head pulsed, adding to grimace on his face. “Five, you little shit-”

_“I am not some kid you fu-”_

“Five! Diego! Calm down. We just need to talk through this as a team.” Luther interrupted Five’s triade, worried at the feral look on his face. Normally, he would have pushed through to deliver some kind of team unification. However, doubts caused Luther to falter in speech, still unsure of himself. 

Diego pounced on the opportunity. “Wow. So helpful from the man who won’t _get off his ass and do something.”_

“It’s not like that.” Luther shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at the lounging couches hoping for some backup. 

It didn’t come. Klaus was only paying attention somewhat, lost in his own world. A sketchbook laid open across his thigh. Luther sighed. Directly asking Klaus would be taking a chance on what kind of reaction he’d receive: sardonic, dismissive or otherwise.

“Look, I don’t want to leave Allison alone-”

“She wouldn’t _be alone,_ dumbass. Grace is still-”

Five snarled in annoyance at the derailed conversation. “We need to focus on Vanya.”

“Five!” Diego pivoted back to shout more directly in Five’s face. “Stop interrupting me or I swear to-”

Five ground his teeth in fury. _Can nobody focus for more than ten minutes?_ “Shut up Diego!”

“Five! You prick! You won’t stop demanding my help, but you won’t even let me finish-”

“I wanted help, not your insufferable ego stroking.”

“Excuse me?” Diego jabbed a finger near Five’s shoulder that was immediately slapped away. “Do you hear yourself? If you want to talk about big egos, how about we check yours, _buddy._ ”

“The difference is rather clear, don’t you think? I get things done. I don’t do empty posturing.” Five smoothed down the labels of his coat with a smug cat-like glare. “You may call my confidence ‘arrogance’ if it makes you feel better.” 

Diego’s hand gestured violently with a dagger. “Five, you absolute ass-”

“Hey, c’mon.” Luther stood abruptly, wincing slightly as the barstool squeaked under the pressure. “Five. Diego. What’s going on? Are we working together or not?” Luther tried to keep an optimistic lilt to his voice despite the rather hostile looks he was receiving. “We’ve got a. . . decent starting point, right? Let’s keep brainstorming.”

“That was the plan,” Five muttered darkly, taking a large swig of his flask, which he had generously refilled at the bar. The metal was ice cold to the touch. He didn’t remember misplacing it in the fridge, but he had lost it in stranger places.

Diego smirked, wolfishly giving a sharp fake grin. “Ah, but Luther, don’t worry, this is _family._ We’re just one big freakin happy family. Isn’t that what dear old Dad kept drilling into our heads?” Diego felt an uncomfortable satisfaction at the way Luther’s face drooped. “You know, so we’d repeat that shit constantly for the interviews and for ourselves? It was all a lie. A lie to make us media darlings and so people could ignore we were child special OPS. Such a lovely _family._ ”

“Well,” Luther took a deep breath. “You’re right, Diego.”

Diego crossed his arms casually, an eyebrow shooting up the only indication that he was listening intently.

“Has hell frozen over?” Five screwed the cap on his flask with a flourish, making it a point to keep it handy.

“We really weren't a family. At least, not really.” Luther fidgeted with his napkin under two pairs of stares. “But we can choose to be family.”

For Luther, it was a big admission. He had clung to Reginald’s words tightly, believing all of his advice came from paternal caring. It had been so difficult for Luther to reconcile Reginald Hargreeves, successful entrepreneur, genius inventor and head of the Umbrella Academy, with the father who was so disgusted with his “son” that he sent him to the moon for no other reason than to get him out of sight. During the long, maddening isolation in the inky dark abyss of space, Luther’s sanity had wavered. The knowledge that he was the first line of defense for the apocalypse remained the thread holding him together. And it had snapped.

Luther nearly lost himself.

But then . . .

Allison had needed them. She needed him. Maybe it would never be the way Luther had dreamed, but Luther was determined to help her rebuild her life however she wanted it. And the faintest spark of hope flickered that maybe they could even rebuild the Academy.

“So. . .” Luther threw his shoulders back, attempting to feign confidence. “What are our leading theories?”

Five straightened from his lean on the bar counter. “Vanya was highly likely to have been one of the last people to see Harold alive. She missed her big solo at the concert and her apartment has remained empty. She must be on the run.”

“But. . .” Luther frowned, still unable to picture the smallest and most easily forgotten member of the family being capable of such violence. “She must have known he. . . hurt Allison, right? If she killed Harold, wouldn’t it be self defense? She was probably trying to do anything to get away from him.”

“That slimeball Harold covered his tracks pretty well changing his name,” Diego pointed out. “I’m not even sure Allison had the chance to explain what she discovered. And we still don’t really have any idea what happened at that damn cabin.”

“I just don’t understand the lack of any kind of trail. . .” Five mumbled to himself. “She can’t have been carrying much cash and none of her cards have popped up.” 

“Where would she even go?” Luther puzzled. He knew, of course, that the others had some kind of life outside the mansion walls of varying success, but Luther could hardly picture any other kind of life. (Nightmares of endless space with its beautiful, silent, distant stars as the only company watching him waste away on the moon didn’t count.)

“She can’t have gone far.” Diego shrugged.

“If we’re having this much trouble and she’s still in the city, then we all need a refresher on tracking.” Five cracked his knuckles, joints still aching with the body modifications. “I don’t like this. What if she’s farther than we think?”

Diego resumed pacing, deliberate strides like a big cat on the prowl. “Five, I’ve combed over every inch of that house and her apartment. If Vanya had planned to leave the country she would need some kind of paperwork and she certainly didn’t take much of anything from her home.”  
Movement helped distract him from the impatient _let’s stop talking and do something_ buzz and the chill growing in the big room. “Sure, hypothetically, she could know people to get her under the table IDs, but that would take a decent chunk of money.”

“Well, she didn’t just _disappear._ ” Five felt incredibly tired and vaguely nauseous. “Vanya might know some of the basics, but she’s not an expert at tracking. If she’s on the run, she left some kind of trail. Besides that, she has to. . . know I’ll be looking for her.” Logically, he knew they hadn’t exactly returned to their level of trust and closeness as when they were children, but he couldn’t help it. The idea that Vanya didn’t believe she could confide in him _hurt_ in the soft parts of his heart he didn’t know he still had. 

Silence stretched into an even longer beat. Luther cleared his throat awkwardly like he intended to say something comforting, but the thought sputtered out before he could verbalize it. What would he even say? He scratched the back of his head, watching Five from his peripheral vision. In a rare moment of non antagonistic synchronization, Luther and Diego turned to the map, mumbling about public transport and city design. 

A sudden shrill scream, like an uneven cross between a yelp and a shout, broke everyone’s concentration.

Luther, Diego and Five whirled to the center of the room in a combat stance to be met with the sight of a semi-forgotten Klaus frozen on the couch.

“What the hell Klaus?”

Klaus’ eyes, as wide as the fancy gold plated china saucers that still littered the floor from the mansion destruction, stared at a point beyond the group. His journal thumped to the floor, belatedly. Something like a high pitched whimper trembled from Klaus.

“Klaus?” Diego strode forward, closer to the ornate couch. “Bro? What’s going on?” Klaus clamped down icy fingers on Diego’s wrist as soon as he was in range, startling him. “Okaaay, how about some personal space?”

Five watched in bland annoyance as Diego tugged at an unresponsive Klaus and Luther lumbered over to hover. “Sure, fine. What’s one more distraction? Would it be too much to ask for this to be relevant in any way?” 

“Well. . .” Diego shrugged his unimpeded shoulder. “It’s Klaus, man. I’m not sure I even want to kn-Woah!” 

Klaus surged upwards in such a rush, the fancy lounge couch skidded backwards and wobbled dangerously. Before anyone could make a move to catch the furniture or say anything, Klaus shrieked. Loudly. Diego had colorful language to share at being deafened, but neither Luther nor Five heard it. Even as Klaus’ voice faded down the hall, another loud noise punctuated his exit. The heavy couch slammed to ground with an unfortunate crunch.

Now Klaus was known for being rather dramatic.

But the pitch of his scream had been unsettling close to what the academy members tended to associate with Klaus in immediate danger on a mission. Diego shuffled towards the door hesitantly until he noticed Luther rocking forward on his heels. All motion halted. Neither said a word.

Terse silence reigned for a painful minute.

On the other end of the room, the ornate grandfather clock struck 7pm.

The spell was broken.

Luther and Diego fell into a familiar, slightly less barbed argument over the couch and how to deal with Klaus. Luther, predictably, wanted to repair the furniture with Grace’s help. Diego wanted to burn all the evidence of Reginald’s unbearably fancy taste. Luther suggested researching a therapist for the family. Diego resented the implications of group therapy. Both easily fell into this new distraction. 

Five slumped to the nearest bar stool. A shiver ran up his spine and he swore he felt the strangest phantom sensation of fingers gently running through his hair. He snatched up a forgotten bottle of whiskey since _clearly_ nothing else was getting accomplished that night.

“Well, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, yes. I am still alive (mostly)
> 
> To make a long story short: I am a suffering art student. As I get closer to graduating, my classes p u n i s h me more. And I work in retail. Also I have been struggling with some emotional/mental stuff. Life, am I right? :')
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed and gave me kudos! It 100% helps encourage me and/or helps me figure out how better to convey certain things. (Although I will point out that sometimes the character is making an error in story. Sometimes I definitely mess something up, but sometimes it's on purpose!)
> 
> Uh also maybe important question, but should I bump up the rating for swears? It's not like I'm gonna drop the f bomb constantly (hehe my favorite); however, I want to make sure I tag properly for it. (Also might eventually add other tags as needed.)  
> Also will probably eventually edit chapter 1 so the tense matches. I don't remember what I was thinking. 
> 
> Final notes: I have a general outline prepped, but don't be surprised if updates are slow. (Part of the reason this chapter took so long was because I was considering making it longer.) Sorry, but my ridiculously expensive classes come first. And thank you for your patience. As long as fic writing stays fun, I hope to explore my other tua ideas.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is 100% appreciated. Help this rusty writer get better.


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